A Labyrinth and a Hill
A labyrinth rests behind the 800-year-old Hof Zevenbergen monastery in Belgium. Nestled about fifty paces into the woods, a small clearing is lined with flat, mossy stones which form a kind of ring pattern on the forest floor. It’s not quite a spiral but, rather, a curling path that switches back and forth around the center.
I had never seen a prayer labyrinth until I stumbled across this stone formation last week. The space felt sacred. Why have many Christians found prayer labyrinths so profound for many years? What could I experience in these winding stones? A sign on the entry path reads with a poetic clue in Dutch, roughly translated:
INGOING
To and fro,
Relax.
CENTER
Rest.
OUTGOING
Allow,
Experience.
A single entry path beckons a few layers deep into the stones. With this simple poem to guide me, I stepped into the labyrinth.
***
It has been a long road, coming to Europe. Two years ago, my life plans suddenly shifted from medical school to a season of waiting. Emily offered me a chai if I’d only consider joining the new team for Belgium and Ireland. Gradually, the Lord nudged my heart to give my “yes” to this mission. Between then and now…
A visit to Belgium, a deeper motivation, a closed door to Europe, a return path to Indy. Confusion, graduation, provision, transition. Ministry, fruit, and growth. Two roommates, then one, then none. Loneliness, but a couple good friends. A harsh winter, a bed in Sheol, sleepless nights. Family surgeries and cancer. Another trip to Belgium. By then, I had let go of that old story to Europe. But God hadn’t.
This season was fiercely good and deeply hard. Somehow, though the path to get here was anything but straight, God still seated me on a plane, with a dear friend, flying toward the mission that captured my heart two years ago.
A week later, we were led to the foot of a stony hill outside of Budapest. At this hill, veteran missionaries would commission us. They challenged us to ascend while reflecting on our story and how it led to this mission. But by this point, honestly, retrospection had become a terrifying task to me. We had this small hill for reflection, but it seemed I would need to summit a mountain before my recent years made any sense.
***
Ingoing: to and fro. Relax. Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has a single path to follow. You don’t decide when to turn. You only choose to move forward, deeper. Oddly, these simple, gray stones prove tricky to predict when you’re in the middle of them. When walking through, I found it almost impossible to foresee the next turn, even from above. On such a strange path, you can only trust that the ancient architect will faithfully guide you to the middle.
What was at the center again? Rest, I think.
The stony route surprised me. As soon as I felt progress toward the circle’s heart, I found myself twisting away from it. The path had taken me farther from my goal than when I started! And I walked for some time at this distance.
What is keeping me from rest? Let go, I heard in my heart. What, Lord, shall I release to you? What can I surrender on my journey toward rest? When I asked this question sincerely, the answers filled my labyrinth like a flood.
***
Ascending the switchbacks of the Hungarian hill, as we rose above the red rooftops of the town, I released many things to God. He had pierced my heart with this reality: when I cling to control, I conceal his kindness to me by accusing him of taking good things from me and exchanging them for bad. So I opened my hands. Lord, I release to you my past, my future, my relationships, who I am, and who I want to be. My pale knuckles have clasped to the wrong things too long.
I summited with empty hands, and I now eagerly expected God to speak. As we paused atop the rounded peak, our guide asked us to ponder, “When were you first called to this mission?” That question hurt my heart. This season was still so hard to look back on. Sitting on a flat stone atop the hill, I wondered how God would answer this question. What sense is there in my path, Lord?
The sky was so quiet. He didn’t answer. Tears flowed in these silent and restless minutes.
Then, a nudge. Perhaps there was yet one thing to release: my right to comprehend the labyrinth behind me. I hesitated to let it go. But this, too, I gave to God.
And finally there, in a place past my understanding, the peace of God held me.
***
Center: rest. For the first time since entering the grove, I looked up. A beautiful tree draped over me with robes of elegant green. This tree was clothed. A bird sang a melody that my hometown flocks haven’t yet learned. This bird was fed.
At the heart of the labyrinth lies joyful rest.
You may stand in the center as long as you’d like. When you leave, however, you must take the path by which you came. No, you can’t just step over the sacred stones. Be patient as you emerge from rest. Outgoing: allow, experience.
I unwound my path, and I clung to the restfulness I had received at the center. The trail was littered with all the burdens I dropped on the way in. I saw them as I walked past. But this time around, I would not exchange my new peace for that weighty control. As I returned with rest into my life, I developed trust.
***
At the bottom of our hill of commissioning, a feast awaited my friends and me. I ate that family-style Hungarian meal with joy. Had I learned something new? Much the opposite. At our dinner table, I felt I knew less about my life’s labyrinth than even a few hours ago. And yet, here were my companions: rest and trust.
My friends, I have no idea how I got to Belgium. It must, then, be God’s glory and grace when we see something beautiful here. Perhaps his present grace is enough.
The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:5-7
